Denis Smith - The Mammoth Book of the New Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

‘These doors have been forced, too,’ said he, ‘with the same implement as before; and on the floor to the right is another little gout of tallow.’ Carefully, he opened the cupboard-doors. The interior consisted entirely of narrow shelves, all stuffed tight with papers. ‘There does not appear to be anything of value in here,’ he remarked, ‘and yet our intruder has directed all his energies to this one cupboard – none of the other bureaux shows any sign of his attentions.’

‘There is no obvious sign that anything has been removed,’ I observed. ‘Perhaps the damage to the doors was done some time ago.’

Holmes shook his head. ‘Where the wood by the lock is splintered, the exposed surfaces are pale and freshly revealed. This cupboard was certainly the focus of the intruder’s interest.’ He pulled a few papers from the shelves at random and examined them. ‘Personal documents,’ said he at length; ‘old receipts and accounts, private correspondence, letters from Hoare and Co, the bankers in Fleet Street, all jumbled together. It does not appear that the precise habits of mind for which Sir Gilbert Cheshire’s professional life was noted were applied with such rigour to his personal affairs. These documents are in a very disordered state!’

In this cold-blooded, detached and business-like manner, my companion sifted carefully through the documents for some time. For my own part, I could not but think of the man so recently and hideously murdered in the room below us, and feel a distinct sense of unease at rifling so freely through his private papers.

‘There is nothing of interest here,’ said Holmes at length, ‘and no obvious reason why anyone should be so keen to gain access to this cupboard.’

He pushed back the last bundle of papers and stood in thoughtful silence for several minutes, until there came the sound of a footstep on the stair and a moment later Inspector Stoddard entered the room.

‘Ah! There you are, gentlemen!’ said he. ‘I thought you would wish to know that Mr Oliver Brown, the deputy head of chambers, has now arrived, as has Elijah Smith, the chief clerk. The junior clerk, Peter Russell, will not be coming. He has been ill all week and has spent the past four days in bed, attended by a doctor.’ Stoddard paused a moment, then added in a lower tone: ‘I must also tell you that there has been another odd development. Mr Justice Nellington has just called in with some surprising information.’

‘Nellington the High Court judge?’

‘Indeed, Mr Holmes. He says that he was passing these chambers at about five past eight and heard raised voices. He paused for a moment and as he did so he heard a loud voice say “I have returned!”’

‘Nothing else?’

‘He says he is a little hard of hearing and, besides, he did not linger, as he was already late for an appointment at Lord Justice Beningfield’s lodgings, in Mitre Court. He has been there all evening and heard only a short while ago of the tragedy which has occurred here.’

‘How very curious!’ said I, as my friend shook his head, his brow furrowed with thought.

‘Yes – if one can credit it,’ remarked the policeman, in a doubtful tone. ‘Might I enquire what has brought you up here, gentlemen?’

Holmes described briefly the trail of tallow, and the forced doors to which it had led us, and Stoddard nodded his head.

‘That’s one for you, Mr Holmes!’ said he. ‘I had had a glance up the staircase of course, but did not notice the damaged door, and so did not believe that the intruder had ever been up here. Still, the fact that someone has been rooting around for anything he might find accords with what I had already decided about the matter.’

‘Which is?’

‘That the assault was made by some low ruffian on the prowl in the fog, who just chanced to pick on these chambers, perhaps because he saw Sir Gilbert entering. No doubt Sir Gilbert offered resistance and received the fatal wound in the struggle. Between you and me, gentlemen, unless we’re fortunate enough to light upon some tell-tale clue, which I doubt, or hear something from one of our informers, I don’t think we have much chance of ever bringing the crime home. These random burglaries are the very devil to solve!’

‘My view of the matter is somewhat different,’ Holmes interrupted in a serious tone. ‘You say that the evidence of the intruder’s presence in this room accords with the view you had already formed. I should have thought it would alter it.’

‘A little, perhaps,’ Stoddard conceded.

‘I should say it alters matters entirely,’ Holmes persisted.

‘The intruder was obviously a cool hand,’ Stoddard began, in a hesitant voice, evidently unsure what the other was driving at, ‘to come up here, ransacking the place, when his victim was lying downstairs!’

Holmes shook his head vehemently.

‘It will not do, Stoddard!’ said he in an emphatic tone. ‘How does your theory explain Sir Gilbert’s dying words, to which you drew my attention, and the words overheard by Mr Justice Nellington?’

‘I mentioned Sir Gilbert’s words to you because they were curious, Mr Holmes, but it is obvious that his mind was wandering in delirium and the words are probably of no significance whatever. As to what Mr Justice Nellington says he overheard, I think it very likely that he was simply mistaken. He himself admitted that his hearing is poor. But what, then, may I ask, is your own view of the matter?’

‘I should prefer to reserve my opinion for a few more minutes,’ replied Holmes. ‘It is an interesting case, Stoddard, with some features which may be unique, and I am grateful that you called us in. It is well worth leaving one’s fireside for! Let us now go down and hear what the other members of the chambers have to say, and then perhaps we can shed some light upon this most unusual mystery.’

The clerks’ office, at the rear of the chambers, contained one large desk in the middle of the room, and a smaller one to the side, with a great number of cupboards and cabinets stacked tightly round the walls. In this room, Holmes and I seated ourselves and a moment later Stoddard entered, accompanied by a tall, portly man, about forty years of age, with thinning hair and a small moustache, whom he introduced as Mr Oliver Brown.

He had left the chambers at about half past six, he informed us, at which time nothing was amiss and there was nothing to indicate that the evening would prove to be at all out of the ordinary. Sir Gilbert Cheshire had been sitting at his desk, reading through a brief, when he bade him good night. No visitors had been expected in the evening, so far as he was aware. After leaving the Temple, he had walked along the Strand to Rule’s restaurant, in Maiden Lane, where he had dined alone, leaving shortly before eight o’clock. He had then walked on towards Charing Cross, where he had picked up a cab in the street and driven directly home to his house in Half Moon Street, off Piccadilly.

Holmes then asked him if Sir Gilbert Cheshire had shown any apprehension of danger recently, but he shook his head at this suggestion.

‘Not at all,’ said he, ‘although any such apprehension might not have been apparent, for Sir Gilbert was not one to display emotion at any time. He was a very close man. I have never known him appear either happy or unhappy. He simply pursued his own unswerving course through life.’

‘You and he were not on terms of personal friendship?’ enquired Holmes after a moment.

‘Our relations were purely professional,’ the other replied, with a shake of the head. ‘I do not believe that Sir Gilbert was ever on terms of personal friendship, as you put it, with anyone. There were a couple of men with whom he would sometimes smoke a cigar after dinner, but that, to the best of my knowledge, was the extent of his social recreation. It was not popularity he desired, but professional success and his desire for that was unbounded. It was for that reason that I was confident, when he assumed the headship of these chambers, ten years ago, that our practice would quickly recover from the tragedy of Sir John Hawkesworth’s death. Sir Gilbert was very highly regarded at that time, professionally speaking, and had always had very great ambitions. It had been apparent to me for years that he greatly desired the headship and also to become a bencher of the Temple. He and Sir John had quarrelled frequently, for it was his opinion, often forcibly expressed, that Sir John was deliberately holding him back, by reserving all the most attractive briefs for himself.’